Only Came for the Cake
by Hookedonapirate
Summary: Attending a going away party for Liam, who's been her boss for literally a week, is not something Emma had in mind when she'd accepted a job at his law firm. What she wants in return is the cake. The dangerously attractive stranger she meets at the party is just the icing. Captain Swan AU.


Emma saunters over to the secluded window and takes a sip of her wine, trying to avoid getting engaged in small chit chat with her coworkers and the other party guests she doesn't know. Letting the bittersweet liquid swirl around her tongue, she swallows slowly, enjoying the way the alcohol slides down her throat. She gazes wistfully into the black, starry night, wishing she were at home in her cozy sweats instead of here in a black cocktail dress and high heels.

She's not even sure why she's here.

"Come on, Emma, it's time for the cake!"

 _Right. That's why._

 _"Emma, you have to come. It's Liam's going away party!"_ Mary Margaret had encouraged just a little (too) enthusiastically.

Granted Emma's only known Mary Margaret since moving to New York City for a fresh start, which has been a total of one week, but while working together at Jones Brothers Law, they quickly became friends. It's actually quite atypical for Emma, considering she's normally aloof, keeps to herself and prefers it that way. But the petite, eager paralegal who's going to law school had somehow gnawed her way into Emma's life like a beaver gnawing their way through bark.

Emma allows her newfound friend to grab her hand and pull her towards the cake, which she has to admit looks too good to eat. The decadent dessert is topped with a very realistic looking sailboat shaped of fondant, and letters made with blue icing that reads _Smooth Sailing_ , which is supposed to be ironic and funny, considering the firm specializes in Maritime Law and because their boss is relocating overseas. Liam had started the New York practice ten years ago, but since the other half of Jones Brothers Law was still in law school at the time, Liam ran the office until his younger brother was ready to take it over. Emma hasn't met the elusive brother yet, because he's been on vacation since she'd started, but if he's anything like Liam, they'll surely get along.

"Thank you for this, everyone," Liam says, leading them into a long winded speech about how he will miss everyone, even Regina, who everyone teases about being the office queen.

It's all very endearing, really, but Emma hasn't been here long enough to be sentimental or for the occasion to give her (as the young intern likes to say), _all the feels_. She certainly didn't come to socialize. Liam seems like a nice guy and all, he offered her a job at the firm after she'd left her old one to come to New York on a whim, but she doesn't know him well enough to truly feel sad about the whole ordeal. She's grown accustomed to change; she's had to deal with people leaving her as long as she can remember. Her parents who gave her up as a baby, several foster homes, adoptive parents who didn't want her anymore and countless other people who have turned their back on her at every turn, including her ex boyfriends. So to her, the party is just something she attended out of obligation and because she was promised delicious cake.

The first slice is handed to Liam on a small plate, and he once again extends his gratitude to Mary Margaret, who is responsible for this whole celebration. "This cake is bloody brilliant," he praises, stabbing a small piece with his fork. "But technically I'm flying to Paris, not sailing," he teases before taking a bite.

Mary Margaret waves his words off as she passes out several more slices of cake. "Oh who cares about a technicality? It's funny, right Emma?" she asks handing her a plate.

"Yeah, I thought so," Emma agrees and takes another sip of her wine, looking forward to having a piece in her hand. She takes one bite, enjoying the way the sweetness of the frosting melts on her tongue before realizing she has to pee. "Where's your restroom?"

"Upstairs, turn left and it's the door at the end of the hall," Mary Margaret replies.

"Thanks."

Emma's only had a glass of wine, so it's easy for her to navigate through the Nolan home without having to worry about being tipsy, although she wishes she were. She sets her cake on a small table in the foyer, heads upstairs to use the bathroom and washes her hands when she's finished. Drying them at the sink, she takes a moment to study herself in the mirror.

The person she sees is somewhat of a stranger to her. After three years of law school she'd landed a job at a law firm in Tallahassee, but then fled and came here to start over, and it was all for what? Because she had a shitty fiance who left her at the altar? _Jesus Christ,_ she is pathetic. With a long, heavy sigh, she dries her hands and flips off the bathroom light, making her way downstairs again.

Her eyes narrow when they land on a man who's sitting at the bottom of the steps.

 _How long had she been in the restroom?_

She cautiously descends the carpeted staircase and reaches him as he turns his head to look up at the person who is now hovering over him.

Her breath catches at the dangerous blue eyes connecting with hers.

She has to blink, thinking she must be dreaming because _good lord_ this guy is gorgeous, with dark, unruly hair and ginger scruff framing a perfect pair of lips. And she's not had enough wine to blame the alcohol for the way her heart stutters when a smirk pulls at his lips. Nope, he is legit attractive.

"Hi there," he greets, those striking blues roaming up her body before reaching her eyes.

 _Oh God, he has an accent too? Well fuck me sideways._

She's grown accustomed to hearing various accents on a daily basis, considering half of the people she works with—Robin, Will, Belle, Tina, and even her boss—all have them, but the deep silky timbre of this man looking up at her like he wants to _devour_ her, gives her goosebumps.

Emma snaps out of her trance to wonder why she is only seeing him now and why he's not with everyone else at the party. She also sees the bottle of Sailor Jerry spiced rum in his hands. He's not even dressed up—he's wearing a dark blue dress shirt, but the sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and it's only partially buttoned, exposing a provocative amount of dark chest hair, and he's wearing a pair of snug fitting jeans—so Emma's assuming he's Mary Margaret's neighbor who likes to hang around or something. She's never even seen him at the firm before.

"You know the party's that way, right?" Emma asks, tilting her head towards the living room where everyone's having cake.

"Aye, love. But I'm having too much fun where I am," he answers wryly. "Who needs cake when you can have rum?" he quips with a laugh, lifting the bottle in her direction. "Care to join me, love?"

"Do you promise to stop calling me love?"

"Deal." He scoots over, patting the spot beside him. "So what should I call you then?"

Emma plops down and takes the proffered bottle, which is full, indicating he's not drunk. She can also tell because he doesn't reek of alcohol, and instead smells of his musky cologne, so that's a huge plus. "You can call me curious," she replies before taking a swig of rum.

"Curious, that's an interesting name," he chuckles. "Is it true you killed the cat?"

Emma laughs and shakes her head. "No, but I did kill a pet gerbil once. Not on purpose."

"Ah, well, do you have an actual name?"

A smirk pulls at her lips. "I do, but if we knew each other's names then what fun would that be?"

"So, if you're not curious about my name, then what are you curious about?"

Imbibing a large gulp of rum, she takes a brief pause to let the burn of the alcohol slither down her throat before answering him. "I'm curious as to why you're moping on the steps instead of at the party."

"Well maybe I just like to party alone," he says with a shrug, eyes simmering with a look of abandonment as he stares off into space.

Emma narrows her eyes, studying him for a moment. Why would a guy who looks like him ever have to party alone? "Hmmm, for some reason, I find that hard to believe."

He glances at her, ready to refute her statement, but instead he pauses, his stunning gaze seeping into hers. "And why are you here?"

Emma stares at him, wondering if she can be honest or not. She's not one to go around sharing her secrets, especially to strangers. On second thought, what would be the harm? She'll most likely never see him again anyway. "Well, I have a confession to make," she says, offering a flirty smile as her finger circles the lip of the bottle in her hand.

He leans in, licking his lips, until he's so close, Emma can smell the rum on his breath as he speaks in almost a whisper. "Most women do."

Emma titters, enjoying the way his eyes flicker over her cleavage as she leans into him to whisper in his ear. "I only came for the cake."

He chuckles and takes the bottle from her hand, their fingers brushing together, igniting sparks over her skin. Peeling his gaze away, he takes a swig of rum as Emma purses her lips in thought.

"Okay, how about this—you call me cake and I'll call you sailor?"

"Well you do look good enough to eat," he answers with a ridiculous smirk, wagging his brows as his eyes span over her body once again.

Emma rolls her eyes, lips expanding into a coy simper. She shudders at the thought of him _eating her,_ and rips the bottle from his hand trying to ignore the fact that her cheeks are warming with blush as she takes a drink.

 _Fuck._

She knows engaging in flirty banter with him is a bad idea, but hell, it is a party, so why not have a little fun? Besides, what can possibly go wrong with the dangerously hot British man who makes her stomach do little somersaults?

Turns out, many things.

* * *

As Emma waits for him to make his next move, she sits on the side of the pool table with her legs crossed, craning her neck to watch him. His eyes glance up from the white ball, those forget-me-not blues roaming over her body before refocusing on the task at hand. He draws the pool cue back slowly, taps the white ball against the green stripe and sinks it into the pocket just behind her. The white ball stops not far from where she's sitting.

She stays in her spot as he makes his way around the pool table towards her. She knows she's in his way, but she doesn't move and instead, twists her body to follow his path until he's standing directly in front of her, just inches away. Emma's breath hitches, acutely aware of the close proximity between them, and even if she wanted to, she is physically unable to move.

 _God, what she wouldn't give to kiss those luscious looking lips of his, or better yet, feel them between her thighs?_

"You're not going to make this easy for me, are you?"

A devilish smile creeps across her lips. "Easy?" she teases with a laugh, softly shaking her head. Emma is still winning at this point, though it's beginner's luck rather than skill, as she's never played pool before, so she wants to use every advantage possible to keep the lead. And without sitting there, it will be an easy shot for him to make. Besides, Emma doesn't really want this game to end, because that means she'll have to go back upstairs to the party. And she has to admit she's having too much fun with the hot stranger she desperately wants to fuck. "Oh no, I plan on making it really hard for you. Surely you can just work around me?" she says casually, innocently batting her eyelashes.

His breath audibly catches in his throat at her words, and he manages a cheeky grin that lights up his face as he steps closer to her, closing the already small gap between them. They both get caught up in a heated exchange, and she just wants to grab him and kiss that smirk right off his cocky face.

Maybe it's the situation that makes it feel like they are already doing something they shouldn't be. He is at the party after all, but she's not sure why exactly he's there. She's never seen him at the firm, but perhaps he's a good friend of Liam's, although he has the same shade of blue eyes and a British accent, so maybe they're cousins? She's not willing to find out though. No matter what happens tonight, she's determined to keep it casual. Just one night of scratching an itch is all she needs. She still doesn't even know the guy's name and she wishes to keep it that way.

He steps forward again, now lightly pressing against her knees, so she parts them to avoid the uncomfortable feeling of the edge of the table digging into the back of her legs, and also maybe to give him a silent invitation. As he moves in between her legs, his eyes dart to her lips, and she catches the desire building in those baby blues. He immediately amends his stare and locks his gaze with hers, a cheeky grin once again crossing his face, making her heart stutter, and suddenly she feels unbelievably weak. She's just glad she's sitting instead of standing.

He leans over her, and she swears she stops breathing as he takes the shot. Time seems to cease as she feels the tension growing between them, but before she knows it, the moment's over and he's taking a step back. She wants to grab him and pull him towards her, but instead she manages to jump down from the table and take her turn. Her dress isn't that short, but when she'd slid off the table, the material had ridden up her legs, and she doesn't adjust it.

She feels his stare burning into her ass as she bends over in front of him and makes her shot. He continues to watch her as she moves to the other side of the table and bends over it, showing off her cleavage as she lines up the cue. Glancing up at him, Emma catches him staring directly at her bosom to appreciate the view; she smirks as she regains her focus and hits a red ball into the pocket.

Turning around, she lifts herself up on the edge of the table once again as he makes his way around to the side for his next shot. Like before, she positions herself at an angle so she can watch him as he easily sinks the blue stripe into the pocket to her left.

He has one more shot to make, but instead, he moves towards her until he's standing in front of her, and Emma gulps at the intensity of his stare. When he takes a step forward, their bodies are so close, Emma can feel the heat igniting between them.

Thinking he's going to take his next shot from where he's standing, she waits for him to make his move. Emma's breath catches and she opens her legs as he leans into her, but instead of taking his turn, he rests the pool cue against the table and presses each hand on either side of her, gripping onto the edge of the table.

"It's still your shot, sailor," she breathes, trying to hide the desire in her voice.

"Oh I'm taking my shot, alright," he replies huskily; his silky accent and the way his tongue lashes along his bottom lip, tells her he's not talking about playing pool. The thought does things to her she can't really explain, and she's finding it hard to breathe. "I'd much rather have some cake," he murmurs, his words dripping with sin as his eyes drop to her lips, and again she knows he's not speaking in literal terms. "Unless you don't want me to?"

He doesn't need to say anything more before Emma finds her body reacting, her stomach coiling with lust. She bites her bottom lip, mischief dancing in her eyes as she stares him down. "Please, you couldn't handle the cake," she challenges, softly shaking her head, but something tells her he's willing to test her theory.

"Perhaps you're the one who couldn't handle it." He pops the t with his tongue, his gaze causing her breath to catch as he takes a daring step closer, his lips almost touching hers.

There's almost no room left between them as Emma's heart slams in her chest. She quickly amends that though, by grabbing the collar of his shirt, her lips meeting his his in a pleasant collision. He instantly offers a groan, moving his mouth with hers in perfect sync as his hands run through her hair.

Emma had imagined he'd be a good kisser, but _god_ she really had no idea. Her bare legs are quickly wrapping around his hips, hooking behind him to bring him closer before she can change her mind. The low growl he offers in return, ripples through her body, sending waves of heat over her skin.

There's a flurry of eager hands reaching and caressing anything within reach, heavy breaths, tongues connecting without apology and absolutely no need for subtlety. Emma cards her fingers through his hair, tugging him closer, just like she's been wanting to do since she's laid eyes on him.

His hands are around her frame roaming her back as they angle their heads to deepen the kiss, getting lost in each other's taste. With small groans, light nips and tugging each other closer, Emma finds herself completely devoured with heady desire for this stranger she'd met a mere hour ago.

As he presses his hips forward, she can feel his growing erection through his jeans, and tries to widen her legs for him, but her dress is too restricting, preventing her from doing so. This man kissing her breathlessly seems to sense her struggle, because she feels the skirt of her dress being tugged further up her thighs and he grinds against her clothed center, showing her exactly how hard she's made him. And boy, is he ever. She can tell how big he is just by the way he rocks against her.

 _Fuck_ , he feels so good and he's not even inside her yet.

Crying out into his mouth, she begins riding the stiff shaft in his pants as it drags along her covered folds, and soon she's no longer able to control her urges. So instead of trying, she begins unbuttoning his shirt and breaks off from kissing him to leave a trail of wet, open mouthed kisses down his neck and down his chest, her shallow, hot breath hitting his skin in broken puffs of air. She opens up more buttons, anxious to touch him, to feel his skin against hers, her hands reaching between them and unlatching his belt.

He growls and stealthily lifts her just enough to push her dress up further until it's around her hips so he can gain access to the lacy thong beneath.

Once her bare ass is back on the edge of the table, he breaks the kiss, both of them struggling for breath.

"Are you sure?" he asks, his voice cracked with want.

"Do you have a condom?"

"Aye, love."

"Then yes, I'm sure," she answers, her mind too foggy with lust to say no at this point or correct him for calling her love. Or to be concerned about someone from the party entering the basement and walking in on them.

With that, his lips are sealed with hers once more as she finishes pulling down the zipper of his jeans. He groans, plunging his tongue into her mouth, sending pleasant shivers down her spine as she pushes her hands into his open shirt, running her fingers over his nipples and the patch of hair on his chest. She's never even been a fan of chest hair before, but she does enjoy the way his softness feels against her fingertips.

Emma's panties are completely soaked, and one of his hands seek her out, finding her nub and rubbing her clit through the thin material. A rough groan leaves his throat when he feels the wetness at his touch.

"Bloody hell... you're dripping, love." His words are just as wrecked as he looks when he slips his hand underneath her panties and into her wet heat, eager fingers flicking her clit. His sinful, scruff framed lips make their way down to her jaw and leave a blazing hot trail of kisses along her neck, pulling a low groan from the back of her throat.

He murmurs into her ear, gently nibbling her earlobe and flicking his tongue over her ear, making her nipples harden under her dress and temporarily shutting down her ability to think, move and— _oh_ —what the hell did he just do with his tongue because _holy fuck…_

His expert fingers rock into her molten core as his other hand pushes down the top of her dress and the cups of her bra so her pert breasts are poking out of the material. He growls, taking in the sight with hungry eyes, his hot tongue tracing a circle around each nipple before he latches on, gently twisting and pinching the other. Emma lets out a high pitched moan and rides his fingers, seeking more friction as he suckles on each breast like a starving kitten.

When he releases her nipple with a particularly hard suck, his lips kiss further down her clothed body. Emma shudders in anticipation when he reaches her belly button and hooks his fingers under the strap of her thongs, pulling them down her long legs and removing them. Once settled between her thighs, his pink tongue snakes out and slides across those soft lips as he comes eye level with her slick, waiting folds.

"So beautiful," he growls, his voice low and husky, before hooking her thighs over his shoulders. Before she knows what's happening, he's diving right in, burying his face between her thighs and she's feeling his exquisitely talented tongue on her heat, licking along the entire length of her slit.

 _"Oh..."_ she moans, eyelids fluttering shut and head tossed back as she presses her hands into the table to hold herself up. His tongue is so soft and warm, moving so perfectly along her folds, she's not willing or able to protest.

He groans against her hot core, sending a pleasant buzz down her spine, and pulls her closer to his face, inhaling her sweet scent. Within seconds his lips are wrapped around her clit, suckling and nearly taking the breath right out of her lungs.

 _Damn bastard,_ she's cursing him inwardly, and at the same time wondering where the hell he's been all her life.

Emma peeks down to witness the man sliding his tongue into her pussy, her thighs instinctively relaxing against his stubbled cheeks and chin. His hands are pressed roughly against her thighs as his mouth works masterfully on her cunt, his heavenly tongue rapidly probing deeper and deeper.

His blue eyes roll up to steal a glance at her, winking when their gazes meet. Emma gasps at the intensity of those heated blue orbs as he moves his right hand and presses his thumb against her clit, lightly stroking her at a torturously slow speed.

"Please, fuck me with your fingers," she begs, lifting up her hips.

He chuckles, the vibrations increasing the pleasure as a string of broken curses pour from her lips. "Such a greedy little thing." The bastard smirks up at her, seemingly enjoying her agony, a groan escaping his throat as he watches her own fingers pinch and pull at her nipples to ease some of the tension she feels. "So fucking hot…" he growls against her folds. His tongue thrusts inside her again, moving vigorously over her swollen clit as he plunges a finger into her heat. Her back aches and his free hand is cupping her ass, keeping her close to his face.

Emma's fingers weave through his hair and tug, holding him right where she needs him the most as he brings her closer to orgasm. She bites her bottom lip, trying to hold back from crying out, her body shaking as his tongue expertly flicks across her clit at the same rhythm and speed he moves two of his fingers in and out of her.

He curves his fingers against that spot, the one that has her seeing stars. "Oh Sailor..." The moniker falls from her mouth in a broken chant as she flies over the edge, her body shaking violently, possessed by euphoric bliss.

He eats her nectar up just as greedily as the slice of cake she'd almost had, until she's too sensitive to take any more and has to pry him away from her.

Emma's body feels like jello, her breathing labored, as this man sucks her nectar off his fingers and rises, a big smirk stretching across his cocky face. His beard is glistening with her orgasm as he plants a wet kiss on her lips, and she sighs against him, arousal coursing through her once again.

"Fuck me, Sailor," she pleads, spreading her legs wide for him.

Without wasting a second more, he reaches into his back pocket and pulls the condom out of his wallet, mischief dancing in his eyes. "Don't worry, love, I'm gonna fuck you into next week," he growls, tongue lashing along his nectar-coated lips as he stares at her wet labia, a carnal hunger brewing in his eyes.

Becoming impatient, she rips the condom from his hand and tears the package open, about to burst from anticipation. Freeing his erection from his jeans and boxers with quick, unsteady movements, she gasps at the size of him, his cock throbbing and leaking with precum from the slit.

 _Fuck._

His dick is just as hot as he is. She rolls the rubber down his stiff length, and with both hands, he cups her ass cheeks and pulls to the edge so she's closer to him. The grip he has on her is strong and firm and she can't wait to feel him inside her.

The tip of his cock rubs against her clit and she lets out a strangled moan at the feeling of his velvety head being coated by her wetness.

Lining himself up to her entrance, he brings her to him by her ass, simultaneously entering her and thrusting himself inside her tight sheath. A moan flies from both their lips at the contact as he deliciously expands her walls; he's so big and thick, it's almost painful, but she fucking loves the size of him and how he moves inside her.

"Oh fuck…" She presses her face into his shoulder to muffle the sounds, her legs clenching around his hips to pull him further inside her with each thrust.

"Gods, you're tight," he utters, a rough groan pulling from his throat as her fingers claw at his back, unable to get enough of him.

"Fuck me harder, Sailor," she demands, feeling the edge of her orgasm building inside her.

But instead he's pulling out of her, eliciting whines of complaint from her swollen lips. He tells her to lie back on the pool table, so she does, and is sprawled out across the middle as he chucks off his jeans and boxers. It's not long before he's joining her on the table and pushing aside the remaining balls as he climbs atop her, smashing her mouth with his.

The sound of the balls either ricocheting off the edge of the table or into the pockets, and the noises of their passionate kisses and the little moans they swallow up envelop the room. Emma is no longer complaining about the changed position when he enters again and quickens the pace, thrusting deep inside her with no restraint. She widens her legs, wrapping them around his back to allow him deeper access as his fingers weave through her hair, pulling her head back. He buries his face in her neck, sucking on her pulse point, his speed and the way he plunges into her never retreating.

Their silent, restrained moans and the sounds of skin slapping skin fill the room as this gorgeous man fucks her into the pool table with an incredible speed and rhythm, leaving love bites in his wake. Releasing her neck, his shattered breath is heavy on her skin as his teeth playfully tug on her earlobe.

"Gods, I'm so close. Come with me, darling," he whispers, his hand wandering between them, and quickly finding her clit, his finger making circles over the familiar sensitive spot.

Emma cries out, the pressure slowly building, along with the speed of his fingers and the relentless thrusts of his hips. It doesn't take long for the ripples of pleasure to crash over her. Emma's legs tighten around his hips, her toes curling as he fucks her hard and deep, greedily taking what he wants. "Oh fuck," she curses half coherently her eyes slamming shut and her head tilting back as her walls flutter around his cock.

He buries himself deep inside her as they find blissful release together. Filthy curses and soft moans spill from their lips as the right rhythm and angle takes them into oblivion. His movements slow with the release of his seed, and he slumps into the table beside her, both of them trying to find the air in their lungs again as they fall from their orgasms.

"Bloody hell, that was…."

"The best cake I've ever had," Emma breathes when she's able to speak again, still slowly falling.

A lazy smirk tugs at his lips. "I have a confession to make."

Emma playfully rolls her eyes and throws his own words at him. "Most men do."

"Ooh, you're a tough lass," he chuckles, wrapping his arm around her front, his hand clutching her hip as he turns his head, looking over at her. "I've never really been a fan of cake… until now," he comments, wagging his brows.

Emma narrows her eyes in disbelief. "Who isn't a fan of cake?"

He shrugs. "Maybe the cake I've had in the past has never been that good before," he says with a smirk.

She raises a brow. "Wait, are we talking about actual cake... or sex?"

"Both," he chuckles, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Definitely the latter though."

Emma blushes profusely, accepting his answer because she knows he's right—not all cake is _that_ good.

A silence washes over them, and once returning to reality, they remove themselves from the pool table and straighten their clothes. Emma searches around for her thong, but honestly she doesn't look very hard before she gives up. Her lack of underwear is not the biggest issue of the night.

"We should probably get back to the party before people come searching for us," she suggests, completely frazzled and disorientated.

He nods in agreement, but she can't help but catch the disappointment flickering in his sea blue eye; she knows he'd rather stay down in the basement with her. Taking her cue anyway, he follows her through the basement door and up the steps.

"I'll be right back, I have to use the restroom," he tells her once they reach the foyer. "My breath smells like sweet, delicious cake," he quips with a cheeky grin.

"Okay, I'll be at the party," she assures him with a laugh, blush painting her cheeks.

He sashays up the steps, taking his sultry blue eyes and adorable sex hair with him.

 _God, what the hell did she do?_ She's not even drunk.

As soon as he disappears, she's searching around in her purse clutch for her compact mirror and pulls it out. When she realizes how obvious it is that she's just had mind blowing sex, she decides not to return to the party. She can't stay and let everyone see her like this. She also can't stay because she's afraid the handsome sailor she just fucked will want to start up a conversation and ask to see her again.

But would it be such a terrible thing if he did?

 _Yes, it would be_ , she conjectures. She came to New York to get away from relationships and men all together. So in the end, she does what she knows best—she sneaks out the front door and flees.

* * *

Emma is a bit reluctant to go into work the next day, and it's not solely because she has a hickey on her neck she has to cover up with a scarf; no, it's also because she's afraid she'll be bombarded with questions about why she hadn't returned to the party last night. Especially by Mary Margaret.

Emma's not worried about about the evil queen of the office who's never happy with any of the work anyone does around there, she's not worried about the British man, Locksley, who Emma's almost eighty percent certain has a crush on said evil queen. She's also not worried about the chatty intern, Anna, who almost spends more time twirling her auburn colored braid and adjusting her glasses than she does awkwardly trying to start up conversations with everyone. Emma is however worried about Mary Margaret who can fire a question per second while simultaneously chewing gum and typing 65 words per minute. Also there's the fact that the party was at her house where Emma had left her panties in the basement!

"Emma!" Mary Margaret greets excitedly as soon as Emma gets off the elevator and starts heading for her office.

"Are you okay?" the brunette asks, walking with her. "You left the party early last night."

"Oh yeah, I just wasn't feeling well, that's all. I had a stomach ache, but I am feeling much better now."

"Oh, that's good," the woman says sincerely as her eyes fall to the fabric wrapped around Emma's neck. "I love your scarf, by the way."

"Thank you…" Emma offers up a nervous smile, fishing for a legit excuse for wearing it. "It was a Christmas gift," she adds, which it honestly was.

Thankfully, Mary Margaret doesn't comment any further on it, and instead, she holds up a small plate wrapped in plastic. "Here, I saved you the piece of cake you never finished."

Emma graces her with a warm smile, now feeling guilty for leaving the party early as she takes the proffered cake. "Thank you, that's so sweet."

"It's no problem," Mary Margaret assures with a soft wave of her hand as they reach her cubicle, where Emma notices another slice of cake on her desk.

"I see you saved a piece for yourself," she teases, knowing Mary Margaret doesn't normally like to do things for herself. She's known as the office mom, always offering a kind, listening ear and good advice.

"Oh, it's not for me, it's for our new boss," Mary Margaret corrects with a laugh, shaking her head.

"Right, our new boss," Emma mutters, remembering today is their first day there without Liam.

"You haven't met him yet, have you?"

Emma shakes her head. "No, I haven't."

"Well, come on, I'll introduce you." The other woman grabs the other slice of cake and leads Emma to his office. "He's a nice guy, you're really gonna love him, Emma," she says enthusiastically as she reaches his door, lightly knocking on it.

"Come on in," the man calls out, his words muffled through the door.

Taking his cue, Mary Margaret steps inside, greeting him cheerfully. "Good morning, Mr. Jones, I would like you to meet our newest attorney, Emma Swan," she hears Mary Margaret introduce her.

Emma follows behind her and peers down, fidgeting nervously with her fingers and hoping she'll get along with him. Mary Margaret steps out of the way as the man rises from his chair and makes his way around the desk. She lifts her head slowly, her eyes spanning up his body, taking in the smart, navy blue suit he's wearing.

"Emma, this is Killian Jones."

She lifts her gaze to his face at the exact same time the man looks up from fixing his tie, and he extends his hand, offering a warm smile.

"It's nice to finally meet—"

When their eyes connect, both are wearing the exact same gobsmacked expression.

 _Oh, fuck me._

The man clears his throat, finally finishing his sentence. "It's nice to finally meet you, lass."

Emma's eyes are bugging out of their sockets, her mouth gaping open as she gawks at the British man in front of her—the same British man who'd fucked her on her co-worker's pool table.

"You're—you're my…" Emma stammers as she shakes his hand, trying to ignore the way her heartbeat spikes at his touch. "You're my boss?" she asks in bewilderment, but of course he's Liam's brother; the real question is, why the hell didn't she figure that out before? She hadn't drank that much!

Emma's expecting him to be disappointed, or at least full of regret, but instead the cocky bastard offers a big, cheeky grin with those same lips that kissed her senselessly—the same lips that were between her thighs the night before.

"Afraid so, Ms. Swan," he says politely, but there's a goddamn twinkle in his eyes, and the smirk he's wearing never fades, but instead taunts her.

"Oh and I brought you a piece of cake since you were only at the party for five minutes before you were gone like the wind." Mary Margaret's words break their trance, making Emma release his hand, the same hand that was all over her body just twelve hours ago—the same hand that was down her panties, fingering her!

 _Holy fuck, she's so screwed!_

"Thank you, Mary Margaret, but I actually already ate some cake," he quips, winking at Emma.

Her cheeks heat up with blush, a breath catching in her throat.

Mary Margaret's brows furrow in confusion. "You did?"

"Aye, I snuck a piece before I left. I was feeling under the weather, but I couldn't leave without trying the cake," he says, his features riddled with amusement as he exchanges unspoken words with Emma.

 _He left the party when he found out she was gone?_

"You too? Oh my, I hope it wasn't the cake," the brunette says in concern.

"Someone else didn't feel well?" Killian inquires, cocking his brow in curiosity.

"Uh, me," Emma replies. "But it definitely wasn't the cake," she assures, her eyes never leaving Killian's as a small smile threatens her lips.

"Aye, the cake was very delicious and satisfying," he remarks, licking his lips, those dreamy blue eyes laced with mischief.

 _Oh God._

Emma shudders at his words, a pleasant tingle shooting down her spine.

"Oh I'm glad to hear that," Mary Margaret says, breaking Emma and Killian from their heated stare. "Did everything go okay with taking Liam to the airport this morning?"

"Aye," he assures as he returns his eyes to the brunette, his face clouding with sorrow at the topic, "it was hard to say goodbye, though."

"I can only imagine," Mary Margaret replies, and Emma tears her gaze away from Killian to catch the sadness and concern flickering in the woman's eyes. "Let me know when he arrives safely, will you?"

"Of course, lass," he promises, offering a frail smile.

"Well, I should get back to work. And please have the extra slice, you deserve it," Mary Margaret beams before rushing away.

"I should get to work too," Emma mumbles, reluctantly reverting her eyes to Killian. "I look forward to working under you," she says to him, and screws her eyes shut, immediately regretting her words. Feeling her cheeks burn with red, her heart starts racing at a ridiculous pace as she opens her eyes again. "I mean _for_ you. I look forward to working _for_ you."

"And I'm looking forward to working with you as well," he smirks, obvious amusement written all over his smug features. "Oh, and Emma..." he starts to say as she heads for the door.

"Yes?" she asks turning around to face him again. She tries desperately not to think about anything she had felt or how he'd affected her last night, but as he steps closer, invading her personal space, she's finding it impossible. The way his touch sends a shiver down her spine as he gently grabs her elbow, the way his voice makes her stomach tighten as he speaks and the way his tongue darts out to wet his lips, has her mind inundated with memories from last night. "I just thought I'd let you know, I have your lovely knickers from last night."

So that's where her thong went?

Emma's eyes widen and she opens her mouth to speak, but she's not sure what to say to that. She's pissed he took them, but relieved to know she didn't leave them at Mary Margaret's.

Killian shrugs, sensing her annoyance. "Sorry, I slipped them in my pocket and forgot to return them to you."

She rolls her eyes, not believing him for a second. "That was my good thong, I want it back," she speaks quietly for only him to hear.

Disappointment flickers in his eyes, his lips forming a pout.

Emma sighs in frustration. "Fine, you can keep it, as long as we never talk about what happened last night ever again," she states firmly, letting him know she's serious about this.

"Deal, never again," he agrees, holding up the plate in his hand. "Piece of cake."

"Exactly." Emma nods, an awkward smile pulling at her lips; she's glad to hear they're on the same page.

"Nice scarf by the way," he _just has_ to comment, adding fuel to the fire by offering a flirty wink, which lets Emma know he's aware of exactly _why_ she's wearing it.

Smug bastard.

"Thanks," she mumbles under her breath and heads for the door, hiding the blush that's spreading through her cheeks and making its way to her chest.

As she dashes out of his office like her heels are on fire, practically stumbling along the way (damn pencil skirt), she makes a promise to herself—she will _not_ fuck her boss… again.

And yet, neither of them can seem to stay away from one another. They appear in the break room for coffee at the same time, constantly bump into each other throughout the day and exchange longing looks from a distance.

She tries very hard to keep her distance, she really does. But every time she sees him, her breathing becomes ragged, her heartbeat spikes and heat rushes over her entire body as she remembers the events of last night.

And before the day is finally over, Emma and Killian eat their slices of party cake at her desk, and at the end of it, after everyone's left the office, Killian is eating her out at his desk with her skirt pulled up around her waist before fucking her on top of it.

She's not sure what tomorrow holds, but the recent events certainly bring her a brand new meaning to the phrase _having your cake and eating it too._ Or in Killian's case, _having his cake and eating it twice._


End file.
